The ground, if a bridge could be called that, starts shaking, glass breaks, people scream. But the roars, the roars only Spencer could hear, the sight...of them, only he could see. The fear wells up inside of him. The pain is extreme. He wakes up in a cold sweet, heart racing, another nightmare. The same nightmare. The only nightmare Spencer ever has. That was the day that changed his life forever. Out of the two hundred and thirty-four people on the bridge that day, he was the one and only. Her skin was something that any southern belle would have killed for. A fresh creamy alabaster, with a smattering of freckles on the tops of her shoulders and the bridge of her nose. She was five foot and seven inches and most of it was leg. His first thought when he saw her, was that she would be the perfect porcelain doll. Flaming red, riotous curls, gentle sea-blue eyes. Her mouth was the same shape and shade of the dolls his mother had collected when he was a child. He knew he had to have. More

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